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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633532">Punch your Lights Out, Hit the Pavement: That's What I call Entertainment!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adashofblue/pseuds/adashofblue'>adashofblue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Daryl Dixon, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, No Smut, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, POV Daryl Dixon, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Police Officer Rick Grimes, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, Trust Me It's Hot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:02:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633532</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adashofblue/pseuds/adashofblue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon is an accomplice to his brother's drug ring. He doesn't like what he does, but he also doesn't have enough money to get out of town. One day, he's contacted by the head officer at the APD, Rick Grimes, who gives him a chance to hand himself over to the law. </p><p>[Title snagged from MSI song "Lights out"]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon &amp; Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>What am I doing here? I’m in Merle’s hideout, keeping check of everything until he comes back, cleaning up his shit like I’m his damn cleaning lady. Slaving to my brother’s orders, and for what? ‘Cause he’s my blood? That excuse ain’t gonna cut it when the cops are outside our door. I can’t stay here much longer… </em>
</p><p>Daryl Dixon is a failed college student who’s stuck in his brother’s drug ring and apartment, unable to afford his own place in central Atlanta on the little money he makes from being a delivery boy. He’s also his own brother’s delivery boy, covering the shady work of shipping his precious bags of coke, LSD, meth, heroin, and who-knows-what-else for him, driving it all up to their own goddamn street. And Daryl is no idiot, he knows this won’t last. He knows that when Merle goes down, he’ll go down with him. It’s only a matter of time now…</p><p>While perched atop the kitchen counter - the only place that isn’t packed floor to ceiling with either drugs or Merle’s customers <em>using</em> those drugs - and going through Merle’s new list of orders to make sure he gets everything he’s paid for, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket. Daryl goes stiff as a board, the pencil he’s spinning between his fingers coming to an abrupt stop. No one ever calls him.</p><p>It could just be a salesman, but it could <em>also</em> be his brother getting into even more trouble.</p><p>It’s neither. It’s a number Daryl doesn’t recognize, and when he accepts the call and lifts the cracked screen to his ear, a gruff voice speaks on the other side of the line.</p><p>“Is this Daryl Dixon?”</p><p>This can’t be good. Daryl has half a mind to hang up on the stranger, but he decides against it, in case it could come back and bite him in the ass. And he’s lucky he does.</p><p>“Who’s askin’?”</p><p>“Atlanta police department’s head officer Rick Grimes is who.”</p><p>Daryl’s blood runs cold. <em>Shit</em>. He drops the narcotics form he’s holding like it’s burned him, and he looks out the kitchen window, expecting to see the building surrounded by cops. To his relief, it isn’t. Still, the head officer of the APD calling him directly on his cell can’t be a good sign.</p><p>“... What can I help you with, Officer Grimes?” he asks after some careful thinking, mustering up a polite tone he’s not used with many but his abusive dad and his friends.</p><p>
  <em>That’s a fun memory.</em>
</p><p>“I’ve received a tip that you’re involved in your brother’s drug ring. This call’s your chance to give yourself in so that your penalty may be shortened,” the gruff voice informs him, perfectly calm yet light, lacking judgment. It’s a far cry from the usual bad-cop behavior Daryl’s used to, so he’s unsure of how to proceed from here. Unfortunately, his snark gets out to answer for him.</p><p>“How <em>generous</em> of you.”</p><p>“I’m a generous guy. My direct order was to arrest you on the spot, so I’m doing you a favor by calling first,” explains Rick, dead serious. Daryl holds back a gulp, this guy is <em>not</em> screwing around. But he’s not exactly trying to intimidate Daryl either or put him in his place like most cops do. This might be the first conversation he’s had with an officer that hasn’t turned hostile within seconds. But he’s not planning on jinxing it.</p><p>“Can you confirm that you’re an accomplice to Merle Dixon?”</p><p>Daryl leans back against the kitchen island, gritting out that he’s not confirming anything. The silence that follows his words speaks volumes.</p><p>“Look, I only do some maintenance work at my bro’s place, okay? I don’t actually touch the stuff,” he explains, thinking he should at least try to make a case for himself.</p><p>“You want my tip? Save that talk for the interrogation room. I can’t do anything for you, even if I wanted to.”</p><p>Well then. A fat lot pleading his case helped him. Daryl takes in Rick’s words, nodding despite knowing the other can’t see him. He muses over the officer’s conduct, his manners. He’s strict, authoritative, professional, playing the part of the deputy, but he’s also considerate - or at least enough so to give Daryl a heads-up before taking him in for questioning, ignoring direct orders to arrest him immediately. And for what? He doesn’t know Daryl, has no idea if he’ll try to flee or mention his insubordination to the other officers. Rick could get into trouble for that.</p><p>Lucky for him, Daryl Dixon ain’t a snitch - nor is he a coward, for that matter, so Rick won’t get into trouble, nor will he have to go chasing him through the states. Even if the idea <em>is</em> tempting…</p><p>“I guess I’ll be handin’ my ass over ta the police, then,” Daryl sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and his hair falls into his eyes. It’s too long, he needs to cut it. Probably won’t be able to if he’s put behind bars. Probably won’t <em>want</em> to.</p><p>Then, after a contemplative pause, Rick surprises him yet again with his hospitality by saying: “I can escort you if you’d like.”</p><p>Daryl gapes, then clicks his jaw shut. It’s been a long time since someone’s got him to do that. He’s skeptical, though, knows there’s got to be a catch.</p><p>“Why would ya do that?” he huffs.</p><p>“‘Cause I’m in the area. The offer expires real soon, though.”</p><p>And sure enough, when Daryl pushes his phone to his ear, he can hear the distant noise of traffic. So this guy’s for real. There is no catch. Except for the one that Daryl is willingly handing himself over to the law, that is. Just a minor catch, then. Merle won’t be happy with him, that’s for sure. But he’s the one who put Daryl in this predicament, so Daryl can’t muster up the intent to give a fuck what Merle thinks.</p><p>“... I’ll take that ride.”</p><p>He can hear a low snicker sounding from the receiver, barely audible but there, all the same. It’s not a mocking laugh or a malicious one.</p><p>“That’s wise of ya,” rumbles Rick, and Daryl realizes that he has an accent. It’s… charming, for a lack of better words. Daryl pushes himself up from his slumping position against the counter, takes one look at the mess around him and decides that jail can’t be that bad in comparison. He gives Rick the address and Rick tells him he’ll be there soon. </p><hr/><p>By the time a police car rolls up on their turf, Daryl has already gathered almost everything he owns into a backpack, and it’s only then that he truly realizes how bad he has it. He owns a single toothbrush, no toothpaste, one clean towel and two pairs of clothes. Since he does Merle’s dirty job <em>for</em> him, he doesn’t have to pay rent - which makes for a decent amount of money saved up on an account in the bank, and he should probably start spending it. Depending on how his trip to the police station goes, he’ll just have to see <em>how</em> he’ll end up using that money.</p><p>He walks out the door and down the stairwell to find this Rick waiting right outside, and he’s grateful that Rick doesn’t have the sirens activated to gain the attention of the whole street. Rick then rolls down his window, and the view he presents Daryl with causes the man’s steps to come to a halt.</p><p>A gorgeous, bearded man in uniform, with the most piercing blue eyes Daryl has ever seen is nodding for him to get into the car, and Daryl suddenly wishes the circumstances were different. That Rick wasn’t on duty and Daryl wasn’t an accomplice to his brother’s stupid crimes - that Rick was picking him up for a date instead. <em>God</em>, how he wishes that was the case.</p><p>“Are you gonna get in?” asks Rick with an amused smirk playing on his features, presumably aware of why Daryl’s staring, and Daryl feels his face heat up from being caught. He gives a mute nod and rounds the car to get in. Before he can hop into the backseat, behind the steel mesh bars separating him from the front - he’s seen Cops before, no criminals get special treatment -, Rick puts a hand up and orders him to sit up front. Stunned, Daryl complies, making a strident attempt in not staring at the officer when he pulls away from the parking lot.</p><p>Now, Daryl knows all cops aren’t bad, but this one is a little too trusting, ain’t he? What if Rick was dealing with a killer, and he just invited them into the passenger seat with him? Granted, that wouldn’t happen. Rick has probably looked through every file concerning this case <em>and</em> Daryl’s criminal record available. Which still isn’t very reassuring. Daryl suddenly regrets not having accomplished anything in his life, even at the age of 32.</p><p>“You’re bein’ real quiet. We don't have to chit-chat, but you look concerned,” Rick’s gravelly voice cuts through the silence, and he has the audacity to look worried about this man he’s just met. Daryl crosses his arms and laughs, letting his hair curtain his face.</p><p>“Well, ’m in a cop’s car about ta have justice dealt to me, so I ain’t exactly over the moon, no,” he huffs, eyes drifting from outside the car window to Rick’s direction, not daring to look him in the eye but carefully giving him a once-over. He has a nice body, lean but with plenty of muscle, the uniform perfectly fitted and his tie somewhat loose. The two top buttons on his dressing shirt are undone and there’s a light smattering of dark chest hair peeking through. Daryl’s eyes drift to his arms, to his hands gripping the steering wheel. They’re large and callused, rough from holding guns, top guess. Daryl can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on his body, holding his hips in a vice-like grip or leaving bruises in the shape of fingerprints on his hips.</p><p>Rick tilts his head questioningly at Daryl, who immediately looks away. <em>Fuck, now he’s got to think of an excuse for why he was staring.</em></p><p>“Do… Do you mind if I ask ya a question?”</p><p>Looking less dubious but still guarded, Rick shrugs.</p><p>“That depends on the question. Let’s hear it first.”</p><p>Now that Daryl thinks about it, something <em>has</em> been digging at him.</p><p>“If yer direct order was to arrest me, why warn me? I could’ve used that time ta escape, y’know.”</p><p>Officer Rick shoots him an indecipherable look, impossible to read. Daryl can’t tell if Rick is annoyed with him already, but either way, this is a rare circumstance where a cop isn’t annoying <em>him</em>. Yet, that is...</p><p>“Yeah, but I doubted you would. I read ya from the moment you spoke, you ain’t a runner.”</p><p>And Daryl isn’t sure if he should be offended or not.</p><p>Then Rick continued; “Like I said, I’m a good guy, until you decide to put up a fight.”</p><p>Is that really a good analogy when dealing with reckless people and possible killers?</p><p>But hey, what the fuck does Daryl know, anyway? The least he can do is let Rick know he’s not gonna be any trouble.</p><p>“I ain’t fighting the law.” “Except for when it’s with your brother, right?” Rick asks, meant to be a light ribbing, but it doesn’t hit Daryl right. He frowns, swallowing his anger to avoid cursing an officer out. Especially when that officer is giving him a ride.</p><p>“Listen, we gotta look out for each other, me and him. He’s <em>family</em>, as you said. And he ain’t got no one else,” mutters Daryl, the truth of it hitting him especially hard now when he’s going to prison for crimes that Merle has committed. But Daryl <em>did</em> agree to help him, so that’s on him.</p><p>“That’s real sweet of you,” says Rick, softer, and Daryl feels those frosty blue eyes on him, looks out the window, and huffs out an indifferent response.</p><p>“But, sweet as it is, gettin’ into trouble ain’t necessarily the same as looking out for him.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I already know,” Daryl says, quiet but firm. He shouldn’t mouth back to a cop, he thinks and tries to come up with another topic to talk about. <em>How long is this car ride, anyway? </em></p><p>“Have you taken Merle into custody yet? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, <em>Officer Rick,</em> he won’t hand himself over like I did if you give him a heads-up.”</p><p>Picturing Rick trying to be friendly with Merle and Merle spitting it straight back into his face is a hilarious yet upsetting image. This may be Daryl’s first time in the icebox, but Merle has had plenty of experience getting in the way of cops, picking fights, and dropping the soap. He calls cops ‘talking pigs’, <em>to their face.</em> Daryl loves his brother, but the man is a fucking lunatic half the time.</p><p>“He’s already in, I’m afraid. It won’t be long until his trial.”</p><p>Still, as much as this is Merle’s fault, and as much as Daryl’s pissed he’s going down with him, it’s not fun news to hear he’s going on trial.</p><p>“Shit. He’s gotta be super fuckin’ pissed.”</p><p>Rick admits: “From what I’ve heard from my co-workers, yea. Somethin’ like that,” and the silence that follows is less than comfortable. The somber mood Daryl’s currently in probably got to Rick too. Daryl feels real pissy about it. He just barely catches himself reaching out to lay a hand atop Rick’s, which is resting between them on the console.</p><p>Rick gives him an odd look, as Daryl jerks back like he’s touched a burning hot stove.</p><p>He’s grateful when they finally reach the station, pulling up by the main gate. Before they go in, Rick mentions that: “I’ll tell ‘em not to be too rough with you.”</p><p>Daryl bites back the impulse answer,<em> I can handle rough</em>, and decides to appreciate the effort Rick has made for him instead.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>The warmth in Rick’s returning smile is enough to calm Daryl before his questioning. It can’t be too bad, after all…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rick’s about to open the car door, but then he pauses, hesitates, and turns to face Daryl. He looks puzzled, searching, and whatever for, he must have found it, because he kicks the engine back up and pulls away from the police station. Daryl’s stunned, watching the building disappear through the rear windshield. He means to ask Rick what the fuck he’s doing, but Rick holds up a hand to silence him, and Daryl is not about to be <em>that</em> idiot who tells him to drive him back to the police station. He probably should be worried when Rick pulls the car up in an empty alley, but judging by the disheartened expression that graces the other man’s features, Daryl can hardly imagine that Rick would hurt him.</p><p>The wheels come to a stop and the motor quiets down, and Rick rakes a hand through his short, mussed hair, anxious and lost.</p><p>“Look, they won’t listen to your pleading in there. They don’t care how little you’re involved in your brother’s affairs, they’ll give you at least half the sentence Merle gets.”</p><p><em>Half?</em> This… isn’t great news. But why is Rick telling <em>him</em> all of this?</p><p>“But you don’t seem like a bad guy. And as you’ve probably already figured out by now, I’ve got a conscience. I can’t live with myself knowin’ I helped set an innocent man behind bars, just as much as I can‘t if I let someone guilty walk free.”</p><p>
  <em>You keep surprising me, Rick Grimes.</em>
</p><p>A dull flame of hope sparks inside Daryl’s chest, but at the same time, he hates being the reason Rick looks so guilty. Because this isn’t part of the protocol, and they both know it. Rick could not only get fired for this but he could be <em>punished</em> - dealt a sentence like Daryl’s, if not worse.</p><p>“So… I wanna hear you out. Explain to me why you’re in this mess and don’t leave out any details.”</p><p>Despite his gruff tone, Daryl can see the despair behind his eyes, begging for him not to be a criminal. Breathing suddenly becomes very difficult. Daryl’s up against a wall, and maybe not in the way he <em>wants</em> to be, but this is his chance to get off the hook. He doubts many people in his situation get that, and he can’t take it for granted. So he starts from the beginning, and he tells Rick in perfect detail how and why he’s here, suspected of being his brother’s accessory.</p><p>When he eventually wraps it up, Daryl actually has to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow, as if speaking had physically exhausted him. He hasn’t said this much in a day as he has the entire last year. And what he said seems to have connected with Rick because he’s nodding to himself, then to Daryl, placing a hand on his shoulder. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of the shirt Daryl’s wearing. Hazel brown meets oceanic blue and a shudder goes down Daryl’s spine.</p><p>“I knew I’d be right about you, Daryl. Now if you can agree to some conditions of mine, I’ll let you go.”</p><p>Daryl can’t believe what he’s hearing. He has to restrain himself from crashing his lips against Rick’s and jumping him then and there. The air between them is electric, and Daryl barely manages a nod, exhaling an: “Anything.”</p><p>“Now, the obvious one is of course that you don’t speak of this to <em>anyone</em>.”</p><p>“Done,” Daryl replies easily and Rick nods back.</p><p>“Next, you’re to lay low for a while, yeah? This investigation is not over yet, and people are gonna be lookin’ for you. Get a small apartment in another state, go live at a distant aunt’s house in the alps, I don’t care; Just stay. hidden.”</p><p>They’re so close. Rick’s hand burns on Daryl’s shoulder, and Daryl’s an oxymoron of scared that he’ll be caught by law that isn’t Rick, and thirsty for this incredibly sexy cop staring him down. He’s never met anyone so odd before, and he <em>loves</em> it.</p><p>“I’ll figure somethin’ out. People won’t know my name.”</p><p>“Good, good. If it’s any consolation, you’re not the main target here, your brother is. So this will die down, but give it a month or so first.”</p><p>Daryl nods yet again.</p><p>“And last but not least; Don’t go back to your brother’s drug ring,” Rick warns him, and Daryl shakes off his hand, scoffing at the hilarity of his request. Rick gives him a dead-pan look, but Daryl shakes his head, forcing back his laughter.</p><p>“Why… the <em>fuck</em>… would I do that? You think I’m completely insane?”</p><p>“No, but you look out for your brother, don’t you? I don’t want you feelin’ guilty for him and his business goin’ down and then taking it over yourself.”</p><p>“That won’t happen, Darlin’.” Daryl almost growls, part incredulous Rick brought this up in the first place, part reassuring tranquility, a hand coming up to clap Rick’s shoulder. It lingers a touch too long, but Rick doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“You have my word, Rick Grimes, I won’t be any trouble to you again.”</p><p>Rick finally lets up, the crease in his brow smoothing out. He reaches into his pocket.</p><p>“Well, if you decide against that...”</p><p>Pulling out a card with what Daryl - to his delight - puts together as contact details, he hands it to Daryl with a wink, their hands brushing. Now, if Daryl’s cheeks are dusted pink, you can hardly blame him, alright?</p><p>“... you know who to call.”</p><p>His eyes almost well with tears at the kindness Rick is showing him, the trust he’s got for him despite the two of them barely knowing each other. Daryl can only hope Rick is this kind solely to him because he likes him, and that he’s not this way with all the offenders he deals with. It might sound like a selfish thought, but more than anything, Daryl wants Rick to be <em>safe</em>. Trusting the wrong people <em>never</em> works out well, Daryl can say this from experience.</p><p>However, <em>why</em> Daryl wants Rick to be safe is beyond him. He can’t possibly feel this strongly for a man he’s just met. And now that Daryl has to get out of the state, they probably won’t see each other again.</p><p>A sudden pang of sadness hits Daryl, and he looks up at Rick through his lashes, finding him grinning at him. Letting his emotions drive him on autopilot, he twists a hand in Rick’s tie and yanks him into a kiss.</p><p>The noise of surprise that latches in Rick’s throat is delicious. His lips are full, soft, and a little chapped against his, the pricking of his stubble rough against Daryl’s chin. Daryl slips his tongue inside the moist heat of Rick’s mouth - he tastes of spice and smells of firewood and expensive cologne - as Rick’s hand weaves through his messy hair and he hums, deep and scratchy, against his lips.</p><p>It takes all of his efforts to finally pull away from the man, and Daryl thinks he ought to have a gold medal for managing. The open, hungry look on Rick’s face and his cherry-bitten lips is a sight to die for, and Daryl’s chest aches so for it. <em>He has to say goodbye to this man now. </em></p><p>But first…</p><p>“Thank you so much. I don’t know how ta ever repay you,” he murmurs, offering Rick a sincere, bittersweet smile that he had reserved for him the moment he got in the car.</p><p>“You don’t owe me anythin’, Dar,” says Rick, just as sincere, as Daryl exits the car and puts his hand up against the window on Rick’s car door, not caring if he leaves a smudge. Except he probably should, because fingerprints. But oh well. Rick rolls down that very window and instead cages Daryl’s hand in his own, twining their fingers together. Daryl has to hold back a sob.</p><p>“You don’t have to get into trouble ta call me either. That card’s got my personal number on it. The one I called you from earlier today.”</p><p>Oh. So Rick didn’t even call him on his work-phone, leaving Daryl practically untraceable. Daryl fights the urge to kiss him again. He sticks his hand in his pocket and feels along the edges of the card. He already knows he’ll be calling Rick again.</p><p>“Clever son of a bitch, huh?”</p><p>“I try. Now get out of here, before anyone sees you holdin’ hands with a cop,'' urged Rick, still smiling coyly at him. Daryl nods once, turns to walk away, and then stops. Looks back.</p><p>“I’ll see you around, officer Grimes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's your update, my sweet readers! It's a tad shorter than the first chapter, but I hope you like it all the same. Oh, and by the look of it, this trilogy is turning into more of a tetralogy, with 4 chapters rather than 3. So that hopefully makes up for how short this is!</p><p>[Quick note: I'm fully aware nothing works like this in law - I'm a romance writer, I don't strive for logically correct.]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>How soon is too soon to call a police officer you just kissed? It’s been a week, I’ve settled into a small flat in the outskirts of Tennessee, no other cops have been at my door, and I’ve even gotten a new job in a hardware store to pay my bills. As an estranged accomplice to a criminal, things could be way worse. But, well… </em>
</p><p>Daryl pulls up his phone, checking it for any missed messages, despite knowing his inbox is as empty as a college dorm fridge. He can’t expect Rick to text or call him first, he told Daryl specifically to call <em>him</em>. So why doesn’t Daryl do that?</p><p>Because he’s a coward, that’s why. What would he tell Rick, anyway? That he wants to treat him to a nice dinner and then have him fuck his brains out? While that <em>is</em> the truth, it’s not the most appropriate first text.</p><p>As he’s pondering on how to approach writing Rick, the doorbell rings. It’s probably nothing, but Daryl still approaches the door slowly, taking a look through the peephole.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. That’s Merle’s clients, and not very few of them, either. At least six of them have crowded outside the door, and they don’t look happy. Daryl bets there are more of them outside the building, guarding in case Daryl decides to flee.</p><p>There’s no point in stalling or pretending he isn’t home, they’ll bang the door down to get what they want. So Daryl gathers as much composure as possible, puts on a stone-faced expression, and opens the door, blocking the way so they won’t barge inside.</p><p>“Gentlemen,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Said gentlemen (<em>and</em> gentlewomen) aren’t pleased, but none of them are knocking his teeth out yet. See, you gotta look on the bright side of things like that.</p><p>“Well, if it isn’t Merle’s asshole little brother who left him to rot in jail,” sneers one of them - <em>Lucas</em>, if Daryl’s got it right, flashing him a gold-toothed, wolfish grin. A lady steps up next to Lucas. She’s smoking a cigarette and wearing tons of fake hair, as well as heavy bags beneath her eyes. Daryl can’t recall her name.</p><p>“You think we wouldn’t find you just ‘cuz you got outta the state, huh? We <em>paid</em> for our drugs, so we’re gonna <em>git</em> our drugs,” hisses the nameless lady, blowing a cloud of smoke into Daryl’s face. Daryl abstains from rolling his eyes - addicts are unpredictable and dangerous, Daryl doesn’t want to provoke them - but he <em>does</em> wave the smoke out of his face. He spends a moment internally cursing his brother out for putting him in this situation, and then he attempts to look apologetic.</p><p>“Sorry guys, I got nothin’. I know you didn’t get your last shipment, but that’s on Merle. I just kept track of things, you know this.”</p><p>The gold-toothed, self-given leader of the group, Lucas, takes a step toward him, towering in front of Daryl in an attempt to be imposing. He’s about two heads taller than Daryl and casts a shadow over the entire door frame. Needless to say, he succeeds pretty well.</p><p>“We also know you <em>drove</em> the stuff to us, so if Merle’s in the slammer, then why are <em>you</em> here?”</p><p><em>Well, see, that’s an interesting one. I persuaded a sympathetic cop to let me go and now we haven’t talked for a week but I’m still yearning after him like a Goddamn schoolgirl; is what Daryl </em>doesn’t<em> say. </em></p><p>This is what he <em>does</em> say: “They let me go. They said I didn’t do nothin’ illegal, so I was free to go”. When the group stares him down as if expecting more, Daryl makes up a little, white lie.</p><p>“But I’m gonna visit Merle, try to get ‘im out.”</p><p>He <em>would</em> visit his brother if he could, but he knows he can’t get anywhere near the police station without ending up in the icebox himself. Besides, he made a promise to Rick - and Daryl Dixon does not break promises.</p><p>Daryl’s words seem to placate Lucas at least, who steps back and nods once at Daryl in gratitude. Lucas is less of an addict and more of Merle’s best friend, clearly here to make sure Daryl doesn’t give up on him. It’s sweet in its own way, Daryl supposes.</p><p>Another customer in the back speaks up then, aggressively clipping through the other clients and sneering at him: “Now that we know you’re out, you can get us the shipment we ordered. Remember, we <em>paid</em> you.”</p><p>Daryl refrains from sighing. What are they not getting?</p><p>“You paid <em>Merle</em>, and Merle’s-” but the man who’s now made his way over, a lanky thing, interrupts Daryl by delivering a punch to his stomach, causing him to double over coughing. Anger flares up in his chest, but there are six of Merle’s clients here - if not <em>more</em> -, and Daryl’s only one man. Starting a fight is the dumbest move he can make right now. So he sticks to clenching his fists and digging his nails into the meat of his palms till the point where it hurts. The thin man snickers at him darkly, taking joy in Daryl’s pain.</p><p>“No more excuses, Daryl. You’ve run outta those. We’ll be back here in two days for our goods, so you best pray you figure it out before then. Don’t forget, we know where you sleep,” he hisses, making a show of dangling a spiked knuckle-duster in his face, one of the razor-sharp edges nicking his cheekbone. Daryl doesn’t as much as flinch, trained to mask his fear, but he nods his agreement, feeling a drop of blood trickle down his skin.</p><p>“Got it,” he grits out between his teeth.</p><p>Finally, Merle’s ex-customers all back off. They take off down the stairwell one by one, but the man with the brass knuckles lingers. He lifts his hand up to his face and licks Daryl’s blood off of the cold steel, and Daryl’s stomach twists in disgust. Thankfully, the man decides he’s had enough and leaves, too. The smoking lady from before slowly descends the stairs, taking her sweet time, and she laughs until her shoulders shake. She sing-songs at him: “Good luck, kid. You’re gonna need it.”, before exiting the building. Daryl has a feeling she’s right.</p><hr/><p>
  <em><strong>Ring… Ring… Ring…</strong> </em>
</p><p>The call gets through.</p><p>“Rick Grimes speaking.”</p><p>Relief floods through Daryl and he almost tears up. It’s so good to hear the officer’s voice again.</p><p>“Rick, hey… It’s Daryl,” he mumbles, quiet in the emptiness of his flat. He’s curled up in front of his couch in the living room. Not on it, but <em>in</em> <em>front</em> of it, on the floor, cowering like a hurt animal. He thought his dad beat all the fear out of him when he was a child, but it appears he still has some left. Hearing Rick’s soft murmurs in his ears help soothe him, but not by much. He still needs to ask him for help, and he’s not looking forward to it.</p><p>“Daryl. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”</p><p><em>I could never forget you,</em> Daryl bites back. The fact that Rick has been thinking about him gets his heart pounding in his ears and his face all hot.</p><p>“Nah, nah, of course not. I wish this could be me callin’ ta ask you out, but…”</p><p>“You’re in trouble,” finishes Rick for him, not angry, but Daryl would have to be oblivious to miss the disappointment in his tone. <em>Believe me, I wish it was <strong>anything else,</strong> too,</em> he thinks. The disappointment is walking a fine line of concern, too, which only makes Daryl feel worse.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, Rick, it’s not good.”</p><p>“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Rick’s quick to reply. Then: “Tell me what’s up, Dar.”</p><p>Daryl squeezes his eyes shut, pained over hearing the pet name like this. He wants Rick to use that name when he’s not in danger, when they’re out drinking and Rick’s pairing it with a gentle touch to his hand or face.</p><p>“Merle’s clients. They found me. Somehow, they <em>found</em> me, and now they’re cravin’ their last shipment of narcotics. They want it in two days, or they’ll… they’ll…” he trails off, he’s rambling, his breathing all kinds of fucked up. But Rick gently hushes him from the other line, grounding him.</p><p>“Shh, slow down, Daryl, breathe.”</p><p>Daryl tries, drawing a deep, stuttering inhale through his nose, and out through the mouth. He feels like a fool.</p><p>“‘M sorry,” he says, aware of his eyes watering. His arms are wrung tightly around himself and he’s sure if anyone saw him like this, he’d look pathetic.</p><p>“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Listen, I’m gonna help you out. Nothin’ will happen to you, okay?”</p><p>Strangely enough, Daryl trusts him. Then again, he ain’t got much choice. He nods, then realizes Rick can’t see him. That’s definitely for the better.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Good, okay. So they’re comin’ back to your place in two days?”</p><p>“Yeah, ’s what they said at least. I’ll send you my new address,” says Daryl, already typing it into a message for him. He wants to co-operate as much as possible here, do anything he can to help from his side. It’s just such a pity that the first message he sends Rick is his - now <em>temporary</em> - address, for a whole other reason that he’d like.</p><p>“You got any names? That’d really help us speed up tracking ‘em down from the APD.”</p><p>And yeah, Daryl knows a couple of the ones that gave him a ‘visit’. After that stomach punch earlier, he doesn’t feel too bad about giving them away to Rick, either.</p><p>“What’re we gonna do?”</p><p>The answering silence is less than disarming.</p><p>“So, I got an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”</p><p>“I don’t care if I like it or not, Rick. I know our options are limited. Give it ta me.”</p><p>And so, Rick does. He explains to Daryl in full detail the plan he apparently just made up - which is insanely impressive, even for a cop - and although he’s right about Daryl not liking it, Daryl also knows it’s the best bet they have. He agrees to Rick’s idea and Rick’s voice sounds strained when he speaks next.</p><p>“I hate to put you through it, Dar.”</p><p>“I know. But we gotta do it. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Merle’s clients are just about as stupid as Merle himself,” laughs Daryl, and it’s far too accurate. Then, thinking about the possibilities they’ll have if they succeed with the plan, he smirks, lowering his voice and hopefully purring right into Rick’s ear.</p><p>“Then I can finally make things up to you, ask you out like I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw ya.”</p><p>He can hear a sharp intake of breath through the receiver, and he thinks the words might’ve gotten to Rick.</p><p>“The moment you saw me?”</p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p>“Well, despite that being incredibly inappropriate…” Rick all but buzzes against his ear, without any bite or malintent whatsoever.</p><p>“-... I can’t say I didn’t feel the same,” he finishes.</p><p>Suddenly, Daryl can’t help but feel giddy, determined to make this plan work and get Merle’s customers behind bars so that he can finally move on with his life, and finally, <em>finally</em>, do something about being terribly in lust with Rick.</p><p>They work out further details and Rick tells Daryl he’ll stay in contact. “Please do,” Daryl replies, and they hang up. This is going to be a long two days wait, but it’s all they’ve got. And for all they’ve got, it’s a damn good plan. </p><hr/><p>Daryl never fully realized how long two days was until now, when he has to sleep with one eye open and he’s texting Rick purely regarding their set-up. As time goes on, the more nervous Daryl gets, and suddenly, it’s two days later, and the sun’s setting. Daryl’s waiting in his living room, bait for the plan, and he’s sweating bullets. He’s got two bottles of liquor set up with a tray of glasses on the kitchen island as a distraction for his coming ‘guests’,and they should be here any moment now.</p><p>The plan is fairly simple; Rick and forces from the APD surround the building and hide out until Merle’s clients come, Daryl distracts them long enough for the law enforcement to get an advantage and take them all in - hopefully without any violence. Rick had told the station about Daryl’s tip of the customers of the drug ring’s whereabouts, and with Daryl’s cooperation, all charges against him were dropped. When Rick told Daryl about this, he was in shock. He didn’t think it would be anywhere near that simple, but apparently, some things <em>can</em> be.</p><p>Of course, Rick left out the part where he caught Daryl and almost handed him in to the police but changed his mind - that part would die with the both of them.</p><p>An urgent rapping at the door and Daryl luring Merle’s clients inside of his flat with the promise of booze later, he could hear the urgent sets of footsteps in the staircase. That was quick - Daryl didn’t even get to make awkward small talk with the burnouts. But all for the better.</p><p>Trained in hearing and probably paranoia, the lanky guy who harassed Daryl earlier growls: “You expecting any other visitors?” And Daryl, using his skill in lying for the better, comes up with a believable excuse, stalling the group with it.</p><p>“Actually, yea. Merle has more clients than just you, ya’know? Don’t worry, I have enough provision for all of ya,” and the very second he finishes his sentence, the front door to the apartment is kicked down and in swarms a fully armed force of cops, ordering the junkies to the ground and cuffing those who surrender. What happens around Daryl is a blur, but he catches the glint of a blade and ducks under it - one of the fuckers nearly gave him a haircut and then some -, and he’s shoved toward the door, ushered by a policeman: “Go, get out!”</p><p>While one cop swats the knife out of one of the junkies’ hands and another tackles one to the ground, Daryl scans the room for Rick. He’s the one who made this happen, Daryl’s not leaving without him. In his callowness, he’s grabbed by the hair from behind. His scalp throbs and he hisses in pain, attempting to swing his fists backward to punch the lights out of whoever’s holding him, but the perpetrator dodges his jabs and wraps one wiry arm around his whole frame, the pressure near bone crushing.</p><p>“Y’all pigs may wanna consider lowering them weapons of yours!” calls the captor, and Daryl recognizes the voice. It’s the guy with the knuckle duster - but he’s upgraded his weapon to a screwdriver, which he holds against Daryl’s neck, the sharpened tip almost breaking skin.</p><p>
  <em>A <strong>screwdriver</strong>? What is this, a bad zombie-AU?</em>
</p><p>The two policemen who aren’t fighting or chasing down any of the addicts are already leading out their cuffed victims, but they turn around when the man holding Daryl at knifepoint speaks up. One of them goes pale and says, less than intimidating: “Let him go!”</p><p>“Hah! Sure, Officer Friendly! When you say it like that, then-” but he’s cut off, choked, it sounds like, by someone from behind, and he tumbles a step backward with Daryl still in tow.</p><p>“W- Who the fuck-?”</p><p>“You can call me Officer Friendly,” grits the third party, and despite still having a screwdriver against his throat, Daryl breathes a sigh of relief. He knew Rick would come. But what can Daryl do to help him now? His arms are restrained, bruised, too, probably, but…</p><p>Going on a venture, Daryl kicks back his left foot with as much force as he can muster right into the shin of Mr. Knuckle-duster, causing him to lose his footing and slip on his grip, the screwdriver cutting Daryl’s cheek open. His vision blurs with tears from the sting but there’s dark red dripping onto the hardwood floor. He wriggles out of the arms keeping him hostage and the culprit falls forward, his arms twisted behind his back by Rick and his face hitting the ground with a heavy thud.</p><p>All of Merle’s clients are now successfully rounded up and escorted outside by the force. The two worthless cops (with their accompanying worthless junkies) who watched the scene unfold scramble to help their partner, but Rick gestures for them to leave.</p><p>“You take those guys out to the cars, I’ve got this one,” he ensures them, keeping a level head despite the situation. The guy beneath him cusses him out, writhing to get free, but it’s no use. Daryl kicks the screwdriver he held so it goes skidding to the other side of the room, watches the blood on it spatter the floor. <em>His</em> blood.</p><p>“Fucker,” he mutters, turning to Rick and the pathetic son of a bitch who cut Daryl up. Heaving the criminal to his feet, Rick looks Daryl over, his eyes widening when they reach his wound.</p><p>“You’re hurt,” he says. Daryl wipes his cheek with his sleeve and it comes back crimson. It could have gone way worse - he could’ve gotten his fucking eye gouged out. He’s just glad he’s alive, and that he took the bullet, rather than Rick. He wants to placate the man, so he chuckles, pointing to the gash on his face. “This thing? Ain’t barely a scratch. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Rick shakes his head, disagreeing. “It’s not just a scratch,” he says. Then: “I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire: I knew it was risky, but…” and he trails off. He just helped organize and take out a group of addicts, but now he’s tongue-tied? Daryl thinks it’s cute. The third party, however, does not.</p><p>“You’re gonna make me puke. Just put me outta my misery already,” he bites, reminding Rick and Daryl alike that they still have some things to clear up before they can go back to flirting and whatnot. Rick tightens the cuffs on the man who spits swears at him and hands Daryl his car keys, asking him to go out and wait for him. Daryl doesn’t have to be told twice, he thinks and exits the building. </p><hr/><p>Being thanked by policemen for his help rather than interrogated or shot a suspicious look is a change, but Daryl thinks it isn’t a bad one. But as much as he appreciates their praise, there’s a certain officer whose praise will mean a hell of a lot more to him. So he does a royal wave to the assholes flipping him off from the other side of the police cars’ tinted windows and he goes to find Rick’s private car, parked a bit of a ways from the apartment complex.</p><p>As he waits inside of Rick’s car, two drops of blood hit his hand and he realizes he’s still bleeding like a goddamn pig. He’s gonna stain the seating if he doesn’t find bandages or some shit. Reluctantly, he searches the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat for a first-aid-kit. When he opens it up, though, a picture falls out, and, curiosity killing the cat, Daryl picks it up.</p><p>In the frame, Rick hugs a kid, tousling his chocolate hair. Said kid’s got eye crinkles from laughing and it’s clear as day when you look at the photo - it’s Rick’s son.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be damned,” mutters Daryl, taken aback. He doesn’t… <em>dislike</em> kids, he’s just not sure how to act around them. He doesn’t get how they work, and that makes them sound like new models of Iphones, but Daryl doesn’t know any other way to put it. It’s not like it’s certain he’s gonna meet the boy, anyway. Hell, he’s not supposed to <em>know</em> Rick has a son yet, they’re still relative strangers.</p><p>Upon further inspection of the photo, there’s someone else, too - Daryl doesn’t know how he missed her. It’s a woman. She has long brown hair and kind eyes and she’s watching Rick and his (their?) son while smiling. They look like a happy family. Unfortunately.</p><p>Daryl feels a sudden urge to cry. He utters one word <span>under his breath:</span> “Fuck.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the wait! Fight scenes are fun but super tricky to write; however I do hope the gist of it comes across well. Only one chapter to go, baby!</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>So the guy has a fucking wife and a kid. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, Rick’s kind and strong and ruggedly handsome - it should be a given that he’s got a family, but Daryl is apparently completely fucking brain-dead, as he didn’t even take the time to consider that option before...</em>
</p><p>A pang of guilt steals the air from his lungs and flips his stomach over, nearly making him nauseous.</p><p>
  <em>He kissed a married man. He’s been pining after, flirting with and made-believe a married man’s into him.</em>
</p><p>Tears burn at the corners of his eyes. Daryl can’t believe he’s about to cry for the first time in years over this guy he just fucking met.</p><p>That’s when the other car door opens. Rick sits down next to Daryl, starts speaking, then stops. His gaze falls to the picture in Daryl’s hand. Daryl, feeling hot, white shame surge throughout him, drops the photo like it’s burned him.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to pry! I didn’t, I was jus’ lookin’ for a first-aid-kit, I swear,” he rambles, forcing the lump in his throat down. He half expects Rick to scold him for being invasive, but he doesn’t. He smiles, amused, and gestures to the picture.</p><p>“That’s my ex-wife since three years back. Her name’s Lori. My son, Carl, lives with her every other week,” explains Rick, far more composed than Daryl is, but can you blame him? Relief dawns on him upon hearing this, but the “Oh,” that slips out is entirely involuntary.</p><p>Promptly, Daryl is pulled into a tight hug, and he reminds himself not to rest his cheek on Rick’s shoulder. It’s so nice to be touched by the man, to have his strong arms wrapped around him.</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Rick whispers.</p><p>If it was anyone else, Daryl would probably shove them off of him and tell them to stop being mushy, but with Rick, he just wants to be held closer. So he happily returns the hug, burying his nose and uninjured cheek in Rick’s shoulder and taking a deep breath, mumbling back: “Me too.”</p><p>When Rick pulls away, it’s to check Daryl’s wound, and he turns pale, grabbing the first aid kit and dousing a cotton swab in alcohol with haste.</p><p>Well, that’s disarming.</p><p>“‘S it that bad?” chuckles Daryl, but it quickly turns into a hiss when the alcohol comes in contact with the broken skin. He jerks back a tad, glaring at the officer while cursing him out: “Fuckin’ hell, Rick. Give a guy some warnin’!” The man’s a policeman, after all - he should be used to seeing some gore. <em>Right? </em></p><p>Rick lowers his head, shameful as he apologizes.</p><p>“Sorry… There’s just a lot of blood,” worry bleeds into his voice. Oh, so <em>that’s</em> what it is.</p><p>Policemen rarely have to deal with people they know or have an emotional connection to. Of course Rick’s shaken when Daryl’s got his face sliced open.</p><p>He feels like an idiot. Reclaiming the inches he lost by pulling back, he leans forward to grant the officer access to his wound, grabbing a hold of his hand.</p><p>“I told you, I’ll be fine. Been through a lot worse. Jus’ don’t let go of my hand while you do it, yea?” he asks, not only to reassure Rick but for his own sake as well. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth to brace himself for the sting. Rick doesn’t let go of his hand, instead lacing their fingers together as he hovers with the cotton swab right above Daryl’s hurt cheek in question for permission. Daryl nods.</p><p>Rick dabs the cotton swab over the broken skin in an almost feather light motion. It still stings a bit, but it’s bearable - and much more so when they hold hands. The cop who moments ago had been so aggressive with the criminal who hurt Daryl now uses such a soft touch with him; it’s hard to believe they’re the same person.</p><p>“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic beneath that gruff exterior,” says Rick.</p><p>“Fuck off,” huffs Daryl back, but he’s smiling, no bite to his words whatsoever. He relishes in Rick’s small touches; the thumb rubbing circles onto the back of his hand, the closeness they share, still in his car parked outside the building. Rick manages to stop the bleeding and he patches the gash up with steri strips and a large bandage. He gently cups Daryl’s face in his hand, mumbling that Daryl wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Daryl keens into the touch for a second, then reopens his eyes. He’s annoyed to find that Rick can’t quite meet them. Was he blaming himself?</p><p>Daryl can’t have that. He calls: “Hey, look at me,” and only when Rick does, he continues. “That fucker grabbin’ me from behind wasn’t part of the plan. I was careless, I let my guard down, but we got out of it. It wasn’t yer fault, kay?”</p><p>But Rick doesn’t look convinced yet. So Daryl tips forward onto his knees to capture Rick’s lips with his own, dismissing the immediate instinct to wrap his arms around his neck and climb into his lap and keeping it chaste. He repeats, once they part: “It <em>wasn’t</em> your fault.”</p><p>Finally, Rick relaxes into a smile.</p><p>“Okay. Well, now that we’re out of the woods, I can finally ask: Can I take you home?” he asks, pleased as punch when Daryl’s face blooms red at the question. <em>Sly damn bastard,</em> he thinks, but quickly finds his footing, more than ready for the flirting to finally commence.</p><p>“That’d be awfully nice of you, Officer.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well sheesh, I didn't think the last chapter was this short, but I kinda like how it wraps up; I hope you do too! If you've come this far, thanks for sticking around. Until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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